


The way I write your name

by ca_te



Category: Death Note
Genre: Gen, Gen Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-07
Updated: 2010-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ca_te/pseuds/ca_te
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written on 22 December 2009. Written both from B's and L's POV.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The way I write your name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fire_the_wing](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fire_the_wing).



> Written on 22 December 2009. Written both from B's and L's POV.

It was annoying, plainly annoying, all that snow and all those children running excited along the corridors. For what? Oh of course to prepare presents for L! Yeah there were some children who wanted to make presents also for their friends, see that idiot Matt and that little drama queen Mello, but the majority, oh the majority didn't even know what a friend was, and yet they were running all over the place to write some stupid Christmas card for that pale, skinny ghost who was their idol. Plainly annoying. B couldn't help but think about that as he shuffled down a corridor towards his room. He tilted his head to one side and then to the other till the bones of his neck cracked. That place was tiring, especially during holidays, all that trying to be like other orphanages, trying to make those children feeling as if they were normal. Normal! When there was nothing good or happy in being like all those plain, senseless human beings outside.

He cast a look outside of the window, the roofs and the smoke coming out the chimneys of the houses of Winchester seemed to tremble slightly under the almost white sky.

B bit his lower lip. In the end he knew that there was only a reason for which he was still there. And that reason was that idolized ghost.

 

L sat in his room, looking at the sky outside, fishing up sugar cubes from the bowl on the table in front of him. Sugar had always done him good, it had been B the first one to discovered it, even though L didn't like to remember that it had been him. B had already been at Wammy's when L had arrived. L had never been a child who could be scared easily, but when he had entered the main hall together with Watari the only eyes he could really see, the only ones which really could interested him had been B's. It had been because of the chills they had sent running down his spine. L had never been a child who wanted to have friends, but that had been the first time he really had felt that he could have never gone closer to a person. B's eyes had been and had remained obstacles even after B had suggested Watari to try to use sugar when L was too tired to remain awake till late at night at the beginning. If it hadn't been for those eyes maybe L had had a friend and he couldn't have become what he was, he couldn't have become the detached detective he was.

Sighing he took a look at the date on his laptop. Yes, it definitely was the 24th of December. He hoped the children could have another nice Christmas.

 

B growled at the back of his throat as the umpteenth child passed running in front of his door. He gripped the pen in his hand. Why did he had a pen in his hand in the first stance? Really that place was dangerous, it could perfectly make him lose the track he had to follow out of that sickening sweetness and that idea of justice and sacrifice to save the world. He wrote down the word "world". His handwriting was inclined, his "l" long and thin. He pressed the pen over the paper, his eyes half closed while concentrating. In the end he too had his traditions to respect, right? And who could tell him anything about that?

 

L had always tried not to feel uncomfortable on Christmas, 'cause it was clear that the event hadn't for him the same meaning and relevance that it had for all the Wammy's children. But somehow he had become the one they were looking up to, he knew that, and somehow in his supposedly emotionless heart he had started to feel that he couldn't disappoint them. It didn't take a genius to understand that if he didn't need something it didn't mean that others didn't need that something neither.

Just there had been and there was B. He supposed that probably B could be defined as a constant in his life. 'Cause B was not his friend but B was always the same and they were similar, in their not understanding the world or in their not caring for it.

L took a piece of paper and laid it on his knees, the tip of the pen sank slightly because of the softness of his baggy blue jeans. He wrote the word "world" and his handwriting was similar to the one of a child.

 

B wrote a capital L on the paper, stretched his arms over his head and put the pen back into place.

L, him and A, when he was still alive, had been the only one to have a letter as a name, he licked his lips. Wasn't that fate, maybe?

 

L wrote a capital B. Passing over the contours of the letter twice.

 

The night was cold and blue outside. The few stars seemed needles made out of ice on the velvet of the sky. B stood in front of the window, puffs of cold air passing through. His white jersey was sure not enough warm, but it was what L was wearing too. Indeed there had always been something in L, something which acted as a magnet. B looked at the stars and wondered if he would ever be able to go away for real.

At his back the room was filled by the excited voices of children, and above all the voices Mello's, so typical.

He didn't need to turn to know that L had arrived, that the tree's lights were reflecting over his pale skin just as they were reflecting on his own.

 

L patted heads and quirked the corners of his mouth slightly up, a weak smile that yet he wanted to give to the children. He collected the chocolate and the small packages they had given him and let Watari distribute the presents that they had bought.

L lifted his gaze towards the window where he had known B would have been waiting, a hand in his pocket playing with the usual piece of paper.

B didn't turn, as expected. L focused on Mello tugging at his trousers.

 

The lights of the Christmas tree were still shining silently in the empty common room. The children had long before gone to bed. It was the 25th of December and there was something sweet and soft in the air even at Wammy's.

B heard the door being closed behind him. It was as every Christmas and yet his stupid heart always beat a bit faster. He didn't turn.

 

L slowly padded towards the window, his eyes on B's back. The floor was cold under his feet. He took a look at B's feet, they were bare too. He stopped behind the other boy, his toes almost brushing against B's heels. He reached out and let his hand brush over B's shoulder, he knew it was just on such rare occasions that B would have accepted being touched by him, or well been touched by someone. He waited.

 

B fished up a folded piece of paper from his pocket and turned, still feeling the light weight of L's fingers over his own bony shoulder.

"Here you are".

He kept his voice low, and handed the paper to L.

"Thank you, B. And this is for you".

B looked at the reflection of L in the window, the reflected hand holding a piece of paper. He took it.

 

"To the only person I consider worth fighting in this world. Happy or whatever Christmas. B."

 

"To the only one in the world who I feel can understand me. Merry Christmas. L."

 

B had to use all his strength not to flash a crooked smile as the reflection of L in the window half-closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth quirking up a bit. But he thought, as he had thought for so many years already indeed, that probably he could be able to get out of there soon, and he brought his hand up, reaching for L's hand still over his shoulder. He squeezed those bony fingers and L could finally see the corners of B's lips quirking up reflected in the glass and in the velvety dark sky outside.

Outside the Christmas night was running towards its end and they remained there, B feeling L's breath over his neck, shivering lightly and L holding onto B's hand. 'Cause, even thought they had always admitted it to each other only on that day of the year, they knew perfectly that they just saw the world with similar eyes, only them and no one else.

 

L looked at the stars behind B's reflection in the glass, they seemed to shine within him. He leaned forward, his chin resting over B's hand. He didn't feel the need to say anything.

 

B sighed and leaned slightly backwards, holding L's letter tight in his hand. He knew perfectly again that the reason why he hadn't left Wammy's so far was not the world's greatest detective, but the boy, well almost man, who shared cards with him on those silent, velvety Christmas nights


End file.
